


Ask Me Thrice

by jfcmartin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Kidlock, M/M, Mild mentions of abuse, Tumblr: exchangelock, and cliche stuff, exchangelock, very weird fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jfcmartin/pseuds/jfcmartin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing that comes in your mind is what you're costumed to believe, and your second thoughts define who you are. John Watson believes that destiny is really stupid, but a certain kid came in a strange set of circumstances and changes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask Me Thrice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my VERY late gift for tumblr user consultingbuddies :D Hope you like it... Also beware that characters might be OOC or very cheesy (BTW the summary is a thing i saw in tumblr, not mine ^.^)

Harry believes in destiny. Basically any teenage girl would believe it, when you found the one; you will be the happiest person alive.

Do I believe it? Nope.

I think it’s because it came in very odd circumstances, in my case when I was a child. In your youth, you would think that love is stupid, and you start to question why people would waste their money and time on another person.

But hey, we all do silly things.

It was when I was ten. Harry, Harriet if you must, went into the world of college. She was eighteen at that time. College comes in two packages: mild and wild. Go stick to reality and study or cut classes and go to bars. I guess you could guess what she chose.

She got into drinking, and it made a pretty bad effect on her behavior, and took it all on me. She would come home intoxicated and beat me up. Lucky for her, our parents are in Japan and we have no communication whatsoever.

I don’t know what got into our parents mind, but giving a tough responsibility to her was a really mad idea.

One day it becomes too much. I ran away from our little flat. I doubt she even noticed.

I didn’t really care where I would end up, anywhere far away sounds like a good idea. I did end up far, in a dusty playground, probably seven blocks away from where we live. The sun was blinding but the chilly wind was enough to surpass it. I decided to hide inside the old tree house right beside the rusty swing set.

I remember its colors perfectly; dull grey with streaks of red on the roof. It must’ve been very old at that time, and the original owners could be dead by now, that was eighteen years ago.

I didn’t mind the thick blanket of dust, I blew it away. Cobwebs and other insects were there, but they didn’t even startle me. I would stay here all night, whenever she decides to practice some kicks. She wouldn’t remember a thing once she’s sober, and the routine would continue for weeks, months.

I made the tree house my second home, better than the first. I brought some blankets and such, a few crisps to fill my stomach, water, and a tube of ointment to rub on my wounds. All in a brown sling bag.

But this one particular day turned out to be different. I entered the tree house to be alone, but I wasn’t.

“Ahhh!”

“Ahhh!”

I nearly fell down the crooked string ladder attached to the tiny house. Luckily, the intruder had quick reflexes and caught me immediately by the hand. I’m surprised he was able to hold me, despite him being smaller than me.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Excuse me but, who are you?” I asked as I climbed into the little shelter.

He stammered. “Erm… I just got here and I… erm… I’ll just go now…”

“Wait!” I grabbed him by the elbow and said, “You can stay, if you want to.”

He hesitated a bit, but gave in and sat back on his original position. Awkward silence stretched in minutes until I attempted to break it.

“So, what brings you here? I mean, how did you find it?”

He scoffed. “This treehouse is a bit prominent, it is the biggest structure within the area and it is the only one here. I wouldn’t be surprised if people went here for fish and chips.”

I ignored his arrogance and just continued the small talk. “Why did you decide to go here anyway?”

“Oh, the small talk,” he knew my motives. “Well I just needed some time to think; to cope up with people’s idiocies and ignorance. I thought this would be a good place to do that. Yes, it is not hidden from others but nevertheless calming. I’m not here to intrude; you can do whatever you want. I’m just here to sit and think.” He shut his eyes and brought his hands together below his nose and said nothing.

“Oh… Umm okay… Just… continue with what you’re doing! I’ll just…” I shifted on my seat awkwardly and watched him. I guess he could feel my eyes boring through him so his eyes snapped open.

“Do you mind?” I dropped my stare immediately, as if my eyes were on fire. He closed his eyes and continued to ‘think.’

He barely uttered a word for three hours. He looked so calm and still, and probably once I lay a finger on him, he would tip backwards and fall.

I visited the porta-potty at least three times today, read a few chapters of a book while obnoxiously turning the pages (unintentionally, sort of,) and hummed a few songs of The Beatles, yet he didn’t mind a thing and is rooted in his position.

Somewhere around one in the afternoon, I decided to buy food. I went to a nearby store and bought a sandwich, the only thing I could afford that was both satisfactory and cheap. I head back to the tree house and yet he was still seated as is.

“Oy, eat! You’ve been like that for god knows when, and if you’re not planning to go back to where you live, you can eat half of my sandwich.” He opened his eyes and looked back and forth from the sandwich and me.

“Hmmm, digesting. Slows me down.” I didn’t listen to him and cut the sandwich in half with my hands. I handed the other part to him and waited.

“I won’t take that you know. You can finish it if you want, you must be famished.”  He said.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. You have to eat, and whether you want to or not, you will eat this sandwich right now!” My voice came out louder than expected and startled the kid in front of me. He was forced to just accept it. He took little nibbles off the sandwich in silence.

“It’s peanut butter.” I said to lift the mood, but it didn’t really work. “Look, I’m sorry about my… thing. It’s just that, you’ve been doing nothing for a long time now. And you look like you haven’t eaten yet.”

He lowered his head and looked at me. “You didn’t have to worry about me.”

I gave him a sad smile and replied, “That’s alright. That’s what tree house mates are for.” He grinned and finished his sandwich. I got two bottles of water out of my bag. I always bring three to keep me hydrated for the whole day, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to sacrifice one for my new found friend. I gave him one and he drunk a third of it and settled it down beside him.

He didn’t go back to meditation mode; instead he took interest of the notebook peeking out of my bag.

“This? Well this is where I write what happens around here.” I explained.

He raised his eyebrow. “Like a diary?”

“No! My mother just told me to do this so I can keep track of my life, like a journal?”

“Like a diary.” He repeated as a statement this time.

“Like a diary.”

We made a split second of eye contact and dissolved into giggles. It died down a bit for a few minutes and stopped.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, what’s your name?” I asked.

“Sherlock Holmes. And you?”

“John Watson.” I smiled.

* * *

 

That was the first time I got a friend. I started to consider destiny at that time, but I still had my doubts. After that day, he would come and visit trice a week. It was weird actually; two completely different people went along and clicked. But then again, opposites attract.

_“Oy! Don’t hurt Sherlock!” I screamed as a group of four decided to gang up against the helpless kid. He was seated on the floor as kids made fun of him. I ran towards them and hauled him up by his arms. In defense I brought him behind me and scolded the kids that bullied him._

_“Don't you have better things to do than this?" I asked as they stared at the ground, ashamed of what they just did. They're probably a few years younger than me, but definitely older than Sherlock._

_"What are you waiting for? Sod off!" I finally said as they ran away._

_I turned to face him and checked for any bruises. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Sorry I wasn't able to get here early I just--" He startled me with a hug, and meekly said,_

_"Thanks." I resisted for a moment and returned the hug, comforting him by rubbing circles in his back. "It's alright buddy, I got you."_

_***_

_I rubbed some ointment on a patch of wound located on my left cheek.  She slapped me with a broomstick, so it scraped my skin and bled. Apparently, her boyfriend just broke up with her, and in order to ease the ache, she took it all on me. Fortunately, she cried to sleep so I ran away before she charged up again._

_Sherlock came up with two slices of pizza, and a huge smile on his face._

_"I sneaked away with pizzas from my brother's going away party! I--_ what is that _?" He crawled towards me, dropped the plastic bags containing the pizza to the side, and held my face with his tiny hands._

_"This is nothing! Just a scratch."_

_"_ Just a scratch _? John, your face is bleeding!"_

_"I rubbed some ointment! It'll go away." I replied and changed the subject. "Going away party? Why, where is he going?"_

_We were talking about Mycroft, his 18 year old brother he absolutely hates. He even calls him his "arch enemy." He never really told the cause of their arguments, but he kept uttering something along the lines; "If it be weren't for him, Redbeard would still be here" or something. If he's going away, he must be so delighted._

_"He's off to college," he scoffed. "He will make zero friends, I guarantee." He handed me one of the slices wrapped around in a piece of tissue._

_"Thanks.” I could still feel the sting of the ointment against my wound, but I didn’t show it to him. He maybe a kid, but he’s very intimidating. I guess I wasn’t a very good actor because he stopped chewing and looked at me with a pointed look. He finally sighed and dropped his slice on the plastic._

_“Let me do it!” He grabbed a paper napkin and rubbed the medicine off my face and got some wet wipes from his pockets. Who knows why he conveniently decided to bring some today. He disinfected my cheek and went got a box of band aids and clumsily stuck three around the wounded area. Hey, he was a kid so that would be the best he could._

_What he did next was the unexpected. He hesitated and scooted towards me, and kissed me on the cheek, just above the band aids he placed there. My eyes grew wide and didn’t talk for what feels like the longest minute of my life. Sherlock remained indifferent and just examined me. Finally, he spoke up._

_“Kissing sometimes help people when they’re struggling. It will help them feel at ease. My mother does this to me when I get hurt, and surprisingly, it gets better. It’s scientifically true because…” The rest of his words drowned in my sea of thought (and I forgot it after all these years.) Basically some stuff about endorphins and what not but he sounded so_ professional _and like kissing is some sort of experiment he does every day._

_But yeah I admit, I still giggle every time I remember it._

_***_

_Sherlock decided to bring a giant bag today. Who knows what’s inside it, could be a human being for all I know. He placed it at the far end of our tree house and sat by the opening, not giving me a second glance._

_“What’s wrong?” I asked, and went beside him._

_He looked up and faced me. “Nothing. Just… tired.”_

_I smiled sadly. “Tired of our generation’s idiocy, I suppose?”_

_He laughed, “I got used to it. What I meant is physically tired, went off running from a block away. But you know, just a few deep breaths would suffice.” He stopped talking and inhaled the fresh air, though mixed with vehicle smoke. After a few, he slumped back and closed his eyes._

_“Hmmm. This is nice. Hey, let’s play a game!” I was surprised, for I was usually the one that initiates games. And he was usually the one that thinks it’s a waste of time._

_“Sure, what game?”_

_“So you count the red cars that pass by and I count the blue ones! You up for it?” He sounds so excited; I bet it was the smoke he inhaled._

_We started the game and luckily, a red one passed. I laughed and made a mental tally mark. It went on and on for what seemed like minutes but turned out to be an hour. We gave up when taxis passed instead of cars. The verdict was a tie; forty-two and forty-two._

_We then saw a brunette woman crying and looking around the corners of the playground. She sat on one of the swings facing away from us and wept. I just watched her for a moment and turned to Sherlock._

_“I wonder what’s wrong with her, I hope she’s alright!” I said sympathetically._

_He squints for a bit and says, “What’s wrong is that she’s a high school student and isn’t finished with poetry project. She accidentally slept while typing and here she is.”_

_“Oh sod it. You’re making that up!” I gently pushed him and laughed. He looked at me dead in the eye and said,_

_“I’m serious,” he turned back and looked at her and continued. “See the back of her neck? It’s red. It’s because of her ID ribbon, its material is probably too rough for her skin; she would only use it if it’s important. Her arm is red, too. She probably slept by her desk on her arm, now it had marks._

_“She forgot to lock the front door and her pet dog ran away.” He looked at me and pointed something out on her denim jacket. “You see those tiny hairs? They belong to her Terrier. She holds it close, and he suddenly disappeared. Her favorite color is apparently purple.”_

_I rolled my eyes. “Dammit Sherl—” He eyed me for a bit._ Language.

 _“Sorry. But really? Okay, so let’s say she_ lost her dog _but how did you know that?”_

_“I don’t ‘know’, I ‘observe.’ It’s all because most of you adults see things but don’t observe! Everything’s right in front of you yet you refuse to recognize it.”_

_I sighed, shots fired. Defeated by Sherlock again. “Okay, I’m not gonna argue with that. But where did you get the favorite color?” I asked. She wore nothing of the shade, so where? Is it the color of her knickers?_

_“Ah, that.” He went and got the big bag he brought with him earlier. He unzipped it and pulled something out. “It’s the color of her dog’s leash.” A dog was inside the whole time._ How did it not bark while it was trapped in a bag for an hour? _It started to yip, happy that it was finally out of the bag. Sherlock cradled it and went down the tree house._

_I saw him approach the woman with gentle eyes, the polar opposite of what he usually look like when communicating with others. He showed the dog and the woman looked up and gasped loudly, audible enough to reach me. She brought Sherlock into a tight embrace, almost squeezing the life out of him. I just gave him a thumbs-up and he nodded._

_The girl pulled away and took the dog from him. She chanted a series of thank you’s and kissed him on the forehead, skipping away happily with her pet. He went back, contented with his deed and sat down again, not uttering a single word. I decided to bump him with my shoulder and asked,_

_“Hey, since when did_ you _became kind to people?”_

_He frowned, but his smile was still evident and looked at me. “What? I’m not kind! I’m never kind.”_

_“Whatever you say, Sherlock.” I replied. He nudged me in the arm when I saw a red car and screamed, “Forty-three! I win!”_

* * *

 

Of course not everything gets to be happy. I may have found an escape from the wrath of my sister; it did get lost one way or another.

“So you’re really going?” I asked for the millionth time.

He smiled, but I can tell he was faking it. “Yep.” He adjusted his knapsack and looked down. “We might see each other in the future. Who knows?”

“You’re the one that doesn’t believe in coincidences.” I noted.

“And you’re the one that doesn’t believe in destiny.” He shot back. _Do I? I did when I met you._ I didn’t say that, it was cliché. And he was _eight._ Back in our time it would be weird or something, but that’s what I believe.

“Sherlock! Let’s go,” I heard his mother call out. She waited for him to board the train, and watched us both. He turned to look at me one last time, to say his final regards.

He extended his arms towards me. “To the very best of times, John.” I took his hand and shook it. It was very small, so mine covered his whole. If it weren’t for the crowd and his mother surrounding us, I would’ve burst into tears on the spot, to beg his mother not to let him go.

He smiled one last time and ran towards his mother. They immediately went to their seat, right beside the window. He pressed his face against the glass, and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. I ran just in front of him, and placed my palm on the glass, right beside his. I didn’t care anymore, I let my tears flow, and his did as well.

Eventually, the train started to move. It wasn’t like those movies, like when you run after the train to see that person one last time? No. I was glued to the spot. I couldn’t move. I knew it was the end, and the fact that it was final started to build up in my chest, and clogged up my throat.

I let out an inhuman sound. I don’t know what happened, but luckily, I was in my youth. People accepted that I would get emotional, “Maybe he lost his toy truck” or “Maybe he was left by his parents.” But it was worse than that. I lost a piece of who I am, and it hurts.

Did I believe in destiny? Bullshit.

* * *

 

I was empty for years; whenever Harry got drunk I would just take whatever she got in store. She would sober up two weeks before our parents come home so they wouldn’t notice. My wounds would magically heal and not a single trace would be left.

After years, I took medicine and went to the military. That took Harry off my back and everything finally became peaceful for me, ironically.

It wasn’t a big deal actually. In fact, I made more friends than before. I guess it’s my thing; when I’m in the verge of death, someone helps keep me sane and I avoid it. Seven years in Afghanistan felt like a blur. That was until I got shot in the shoulder, that’s when things got dirty.

I got a bad limp and made me unfit for the job. I had to go to London. Knowing that the army pension won’t work for long, I planned to look for cheaper alternatives, but there’s **no** way I will go back to Harry. I would rather starve to death.

“John! John Watson!” I turned back to the source and it happened to be my friend, Mike Stamford. He was with me in St. Barts for quite some time. We talked and got some coffees. _No Mike, you hardly gained weight, don’t worry._

He suddenly brought up the topic of a flat share. I laughed for even considering the offer.

“Come on, who’d want _me_ for a flat mate?” Unless they’re not interested in suicidal thoughts and/or mood swings, then I’m up for it! I stopped my breath when he chuckled. For a moment, I thought I said that aloud.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I thought about it, maybe it wouldn’t be _that_ bad. Is it worth it? Well you’ll never know until you find out.

“Who was the first?”

We went inside the lab of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and looked around. I spotted a man at the other side of the room, eyes glued to the microscope, so I didn’t see his face.

“Well, bit different from my day!” I said as I fiddled with a petri dish by the edge of the table, my other hand holding on to my cane.

“You’ve no idea!” Mike replied. He went in front of the man and chatted with him. He said he needed a phone? I fished for mine from my pocket and offered it to him. He got up and walked towards me, but stopped abruptly when he saw me and his breath hitched. My heart skipped a beat and we stared at each other for a long time. I could feel Mike looking at both of us back and forth, confused on what’s going on.

“Sherlock?”

“John?”

With my peripheral vision, I saw Mike mouth, “Mike?”

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked at me from head to toe. “John. Ummm, it’s great to see you again. You’ve ummm…”

“Yeah I know, I’m shorter now,” I joked. But inside I was really giddy that he’s _here_ right in front of me, my long lost friend is back. We just beamed at each other for a long time, but were interrupted when a woman entered the door. He looked at her and said,

“Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.” He was about to take a sip but then was reminded of my presence and said, “Want some?”

“Sorry. No thank you. Mike and I had coffee earlier” I replied. I was in cloud nine. I luckily had a cane in hand, if not; I would’ve fell over and embarrassed myself in front of Sherlock (oh and that lady and Mike too.)

“What happened to the lipstick?” Sherlock asked ‘Molly.’ Her lips kinda looked pale, so she must’ve had some earlier today.

“Oh. It wasn’t working on me.” She replied awkwardly. What was their relation? Friends? Siblings? In a relationship? _Dammit, Watson. Keep it together. You just saw Sherlock and now you’re possessive of him?_

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.” He said, Mike snickering at the side. She looked down and squeaked an ‘okay’ and left immediately.

“So, ummm, is she your--?” What?

“Oh, no. She’s just a colleague of mine. Molly Hooper.” He said, drinking his coffee.

“Ahhh…” Awkward silence again.

“So, potential flatmates should know about each other’s weaknesses. I guess you know I’m a terrible conversationalist; I still am as a matter of fact. I play the violin when I think and barely talk for days.” He looked up and thought for a bit. “Guess that’s it.”

I nodded. “Any place around here do you fancy?”

“Yes, got my eye on a nice little place on central London. Together, we ought to be able to afford it.” He said, dropping his coffee mug and head for the clothes rack and got a blue scarf and a coat. He wore both and added, “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock. Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” He left the room without looking back, and I glanced at Mike, who appears amused with our exchange.

I was startled when he came back, just peeking into the opening of the door. “Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“It’s great to see you again.” He winked and went off, officially leaving Mike and I alone.

***

Funny story, I should say. After years of separation, the world decided to bring us back together. We still hit it off, go around and solve crimes, eat pizza every once in a while, and hey, did I tell you we went to Buckingham Palace? Long story. Which reminds me of this one time when Sherlock and I were busy solving the “Scandal in Belgravia,” one of the cases we had.

A woman named Irene Adler had some scandalous photographs with a member of the Royal Family, and everyone panicked. They thought Sherlock would be the man for the job, which was a pretty unwise move, considering Sherlock’s pretty inexperienced with subjects like this. And he’s pretty _thick_ when it comes to women. No pun intended.

We discovered that those malicious photos were in her phone, so Sherlock took it and tried to figure out the password. He really thought hard about it and he really looked like he would combust into flames before he gets to solve the mystery. He was seated on the kitchen table, his elbows rested on it with his hands below his chin and his eyes closed. He was like that for quite a long time now, so I decided to help him.

I stood up and went in front of him, studying his face for a while. He didn’t seem to care and just went on with his contemplation. I know he isn’t sleeping, I saw him do this before. I leaned towards him and kissed him on the forehead. He didn’t seem to notice so I did it again. And again. And again.

Okay, let’s just say that I lost count? But at some point, he opened his eyes and stared at me with his crystal blue eyes. “What are you doing?” He asked.

I smirked and replied, “Well a friend once told me that ‘kissing sometimes help people when they’re struggling. Just go on with what you’re doing.” He raised his eyebrow and stared for a bit longer.

“Thank you.” Then he shut his eyes close. But this time his expression was serene, like listening to one of his favorite violin pieces. I guess my work here is done, so I resumed with my blogging.

Try asking me again; do I believe in destiny?

Sure.

**Author's Note:**

> *hides in a hole for letting you wait for a really bad fic* but i hope it was good one way or another... aaand I proofread it once and posted it because I panicked that I promised you by Tuesday and I'm about to sleep so let me know if there's any grammar mistakes


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